Tea and Sympathy
by professortennant
Summary: Coffeeshop AU. Jean Beazley opens her own tea and coffeeshop, but everything changes when Lucien Blake comes to town.


Everyone in Ballarat said the same thing: If you're feeling down, go to Jean's. This used to mean swinging by the Beazley farm and sitting at Jean's table and watching her putter around the kitchen as she fixed up a tea tray and sat with you while you poured your heart out.

Jean gave the best advice, always had the most comfort to offer, and most importantly, she made the best damn cup of tea in all of Ballarat. At the urging of her son, Jean stepped out into the world and opened her own tea shop, _Tea and Sympathy._

Self-doubt had filled her, but with every compliment received and each local paper write-up, Jean found a new rhythm to her life. Up early to roast tea leaves and coffee beans, baking a few items for the day, and then settling behind the counter and awaiting the customers.

Many thought store-bought tea and coffee at a café like _Tea and Sympathy_ was a bit of a luxury. Like any other shop, Jean had her ups and downs with finances, but ultimately her caring manner, an excellent cuppa, and a friendly ear kept the people of Ballarat pouring in.

All in all, Jean Beazley was quite happy with her life, despite an occasionally lonely heart. And then he walked in.

* * *

It was like the noise of the café ceased to exist and a faint buzz filled her ears. He was incredibly handsome, neat beard trimmed short, an easy smile, tall and broad shouldered and those arms…

Jean fumbled with the cup and saucer in her hand as he approached the counter, hoping the heat in her cheeks wasn't obvious to him. The man leaned on the counter, greeting her.

"Hello there! I, uh, would love a cuppa of your strongest brew, please."

Upon closer inspection, Jean saw the dark circles beneath his eyes and the frown lines flirting about his mouth. Strongest brew, indeed. "If you don't mind me saying so, you look knackered. Perhaps it's coffee you need, not tea?"

He laughed at her brazenness. Not many people–let alone women–were bold enough to opine so freely. "Knackered is certainly a word for it. I just arrived in Ballarat last night and I'm afraid I don't have anything unpacked. And even more unfortunately, my bed did not arrive with the rest of my things, so it was a rather restless night on the couch for me."

Jean nodded, "Well, in that case, coffee it is. I have a roast that I just ordered in from Italy that is absolutely divine."

The stranger agreed readily and Jean turned to fix him his coffee, placing the steaming cup of coffee on the counter in front of him. She wiped her hands down the front of her apron, smiling. "Let's call the first cup on the house, eh?"

He looked taken aback before smiling at he gratefully. "That is very kind of you…"

"Jean." She held her hand out and tried not to think too hard about the way her hand fit in his and the warmth of his hand. He shook her hand, lightly.

"I'm Lucien. It's very nice to meet you, Jean. And thank you, again, for the coffee."

"My pleasure."

Jean watched as Lucien took his coffee to the corner table by the window, adding one sugar and a splash of cream to his coffee at the self-serve bar first. She noted the way he lifted his face to the sun, basking in the sunbeams like an overgrown cat.

A few customers came in–Veronica and Grace, the two gossiping biddies Jean never had much time for, as well as young Charlie Davis, whom Jean had always had a soft spot for. She went about her business behind the counter–cleaning out teapots and cups, freshening up the bake case, and wiping down every surface so the shop shined. And then it was her favorite part of the day: greeting customers.

She walked around with a carafe of tea and coffee, offering refills to the customers in the shop, checking in on them and ensuring they were satisfied and happy. Charlie had been frequenting her shop as of late asking for romantic advice (he was hoping to court district nurse Mattie O'Brien and Jean was thrilled).

Reaching Lucien's table, she felt the butterflies start up again. "Refill?"

Lucien nodded and lifted his cup. "You were absolutely right, Jean. This coffee is delicious. You said it was Italian, yes? Have you ever been?"

Jean laughed. "To Italy? No, unfortunately. I had dreams I'd go once–Italy, France, England, then maybe to China or Thailand–really travel the world, you know? But," she sighed. "My life is in Ballarat. Perhaps one day though, eh?"

Lucien looked at her, sipping at his coffee. "I have no doubt you'll see the world one day, Jean."

He said it with such conviction, it made Jean want to put the carafes down right now and pack her bags and go. "Maybe." She turned on her heel, tossing over her shoulder, "Let me know if you need anything else!"

Not soon after, Lucien was placing his cup and saucer in the wash bin and leaving the café, humming to himself. Jean was too busy with another customer that she missed the lingering look he gave her as he left. When Jean noticed he had left, she found herself irrationally disappointed and hoping he would return the next day.

* * *

Lucien did return the next day. And the next. And the next. Soon, Lucien was in her shop every morning, as soon as the shop opened. Jean had started having his coffee ready for him on the counter–just as he liked it–before he was even inside the shop.

He was an unusual man, Jean thought. He was incredibly energetic, bouncing around from table to table with her, helping her prepare the shop for the day. He offered to help clean carafes and cups and carry trays for her. Anything to be near to her.

It was these early morning hours that Jean cherished most. She learned he was a former military man, a doctor, and the new police surgeon for Ballarat. She learned he was very demonstrative: a hand on her shoulder, fingertips grazing the inside of her wrist, squeezing her hand. Jean tried not to read anything into it, but her traitorous heart thumped ever faster with each touch.

Some days, there was an easy silence between them as they exchanged shy glances. Other days, Lucien was already hopped up on his own energy and was anxious to bounce theories and ideas off of her as they related to his most recent case.

For his part, Lucien found Jean to be fascinating. She was stunning–inside and out. Strong, smart, witty, and more attitude than he knew what to do with. And her knowledge of Ballarat's residents was exceeded by none. Unwittingly, he found himself reaching out to her, his touch ghosting over her.

More than once, in those wee hours of the morning, the chemistry between them seemed to shift and sizzle into something more. He had caught her eyes flicking towards his lips more than once and he knew without a doubt she had caught him admiring her backside (subtlety was never his strong suit).

But she seemed to withdraw from him and busy herself any time that shift began and he wondered what it meant. And then, he had an idea.

* * *

The next morning, Jean arrived at _Tea and Sympathy_ , expecting to find Lucien waiting for her as usual, but he was nowhere to be found. Frowning, she opened the shop as usual, missing his presence tremendously. Perhaps he was sick? She would check on him when the shop was closed, bring him some of that green gunpowder tea he liked so much.

She hoped it was nothing serious to keep him away. Anxiously, she worried if perhaps her own feelings weren't as concealed as she hoped. Perhaps he had seen the desire in her eyes and was trying to put some distance between them. The thought left her feeling uneasy.

Jean went about business as usual that day, served her customers, checked in on everyone, and even found time to count her inventory and place a new order. It had surprised her in the early infancy of her ownership of _Tea and Sympathy_ how much of a head for business she had. And now she couldn't imagine doing anything else.

The day passed quickly and before she knew it, it was nearing closing time. And Lucien still hadn't shown up. Shaking off the bout of sadness that settled over her.

The bell over the door chimed, signaling a new customer, and Jean turned, ready to tell them to turn around because they were unfortunately closing when she was who it was.

"Lucien!"

He stood in the middle of her shop, hands stuffed in his pockets and shifting his weight from side to side. "Hello, Jean."

The tone of his voice stopped her in her tracks. She thought to her earlier worries and her anxieties returned twofold. Plastering a smile on her face, she slung her shop towel over her shoulder, "Where were you this morning? I missed you."

He smiled at her admission and Jean felt some of her worries abate. "Well, I've actually come here on a bit of business."

She cocked her head to the side. "Oh?"

He nodded, looking around. "Uh, can we sit, please? If you don't mind, that is."

More curious than ever, Jean led them to her favorite back table and smiled at him as he pulled her chair out for her, ever the gentleman. He seated himself in front of her and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and fidgeting in his seat.

"Lucien, what is it?"

He took a deep breath. "Well, I've had quite a lot of tea here, but I'm in need of a bit of sympathy. A bit of advice."

She leaned back in her chair, eyes widening in surprise. "Alright. What can I help with?"

"Well, you see," he started. "There's this woman in town I'm quite interested in–romantically, I mean."

Jean felt her heart sink. So she had been reading too much into his touches, after all. He was just a peculiar man with no regard for propriety. Of course. She managed to choke out an, "Oh?" and pushed the thoughts of disappointment to the back of her mind.

Lucien continued. "Yes, she's beautiful and fierce and I don't think she knows I'm interested in her. And I would very, very much like to take her on a date and court her properly. Do you have any idea on how to go about it? Do women prefer a straightforward approach or something more subtle or even a grand gesture? I'm willing to do whatever it takes. This woman is very special to me."

Each word felt like an arrow to the heart and Jean fought to keep the shakiness out of her voice. There would be time for her own tears and bitter disappointment later. She cleared her throat. "Well, Lucien, it sounds like she's very lucky to have won your affections, whoever she is. I can't speak for all women, obviously, but it's always easier to be upfront and clear with your intentions. Take her hand, look into her eyes, and tell her how you feel. That way there's no room for miscommunication."

She rushed the words of advice out, hoping he would leave soon. She needed a moment to compose herself, to have a cry, and comfort herself. Her control on her emotions was slipping and she was certain he'd see through her any moment. Pushing herself away from the table, she stood. "Well, I hope that helps, Lucien. I really do have to finish cleaning up and get home and–"

But Lucien was standing, too, beaming at her. He reached out and took her hands in his, thumb rubbing over the soft skin on the back of her hand.

"I need to tell you something."

Her heart stopped and then restarted with a flutter in her chest as she realized what was happening. Lucien squeezed her hands and she noticed his own eyes were watering.

"Jean, I would very, very much like to court you. I want to take you to dinner and go dancing with you and take you to Italy and Spain and France any anywhere else you want to go. I want to–"

But the rest of his speech was cut off. Jean had flung her arms around his neck and tugged him down into a kiss. He started in surprise and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Her lips tasted of Earl grey tea and his tongue swept over her lips, begging for entrance, as he hoped to chase the flavor into her mouth.

Before he had the chance, though, she was breaking away, breathless. He wasn't done with her, though. He pressed a kiss to her temple, to her forehead, to the tip of her nose.

"It's always been you, Jean."

She smiled up at him. "It's about bloody time."

This shop had brought her many thing in life, but Lucien Blake was the best thing of all.


End file.
